


An Eye for an Eye

by DecoySocktopus



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Not quite incest but it's pretty borderline, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecoySocktopus/pseuds/DecoySocktopus
Summary: Iosef spits onto the floor. “You think you can talk to me like that, just because you suck my father’s cock?”





	An Eye for an Eye

He kind of hates seeing the kid get beat down.

Yes, it’s Iosef Tarasov, and the entire bratva plus half the rest of the criminal underworld knows what that means; you get a rotten apple on every tree, a black sheep in every family. Runt of the litter. Might have been kinder to drown him as a puppy, but Viggo’s got no other legitimate children, and doesn’t seem inclined to change that. He really struck out when it comes to Iosef. Sad, but it happens. His kid is a loser.

Still, it’s hard to sit back and watch the scrawny brat get slapped around with a look on his face like he can’t believe it’s actually happening to him. Like the whole concept of actions having consequences just passed him blissfully by. Like it’s not _fair_ that daddy’s beating him for shaming the Tarasovs- again. He has it coming, but there’s nothing pleasant about the experience.

He keeps looking past Viggo at Avi, pleading with his eyes. That’s messed up. Avi being here to watch is bad enough; the more witnesses, the more humiliation, and all three of them know it. Best case scenario, they’d all just pretend he wasn’t in the room. None of this pathetic eye contact business. He doesn’t even like the kid. No need to make it personal.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Viggo says at last. He leaves Iosef panting on the hardwood floor, shaking out his fist. There’s a bowl of ice on the bar at Avi’s elbow; silently, he nudges it in Viggo’s direction. “I give you simple missions, _simple instructions_ \- and what do you do? You decide that you are above it all. You break the rules without bothering to understand them, and then you wonder why it is that everything falls apart.” 

“I can do better than fucking…courier jobs,” Iosef says bitterly. “What am I, a mailman? Give me a proper task, father. I’m ready.”

His track record says otherwise. Viggo doesn’t bother to respond. He turns his back on his son, pressing bruised knuckles into the bowl of ice. Avi pours him another drink; he looks like he needs it. Viggo nods in thanks.

“Father-”

“Give it a rest,” Avi says patiently. It’s not really his place, but he can’t help himself. The pleading’s getting pathetic. “Everyone starts off at the bottom. That’s how the system works. Learn the ropes, earn your respect, and then you can break whatever rules you feel like. When your dad decides you’re ready, he’ll give you the good missions.”

Iosef’s expression turns baleful. “I’m ready now.”

“Yeah, you’re really not.”

He can see it coming from a mile away; the sullen look on Iosef’s face, that’s more than enough warning. He’s going to say something he regrets, and then Viggo’s going to get involved, and Avi has so much work that needs doing today. More family time isn’t something he wants on his schedule.

“Zip it, kid,” he says. “Take your beating and learn something.” He glances at Viggo, gets a nod of approval. It’s always good to check. “You’ve got a lot of potential, you’re just…” _Hopeless_ is not a word that will improve the situation, true though it might be. “Young,” he settles for. “You have some growing up to do. We’ve all been there.”

Iosef spits onto the floor. “You think you can talk to me like that, just because you suck my father’s cock?”

He stops after that, as his brain catches up to his mouth, and the room gets very quiet. Viggo is close enough that Avi can hear him exhale. He takes his knuckles off the ice, flexing his fingers. Silently, Avi resigns himself to a long morning.

“Wow,” he says. “You really went there, huh? So much for good, old-fashioned plausible deniability.” He glances at Viggo. Waits.

There’s a way of doing things around here; some insults you ignore, some you avenge, some you pretend to forgive until your position is solid enough to strike back. And some insults come from the mouth of the boss’ son, and those are a category of their own. Viggo deals with those personally.

If Iosef had a single spare braincell in his head, he’d have learnt to mouth off at Avi without Viggo in the room. The whole brutal, bratva-standard punishment thing, that’s not his style. He lets the insults roll right off him; they’re not personal, he gets that. Daddy issues suck. In private, he’d let Iosef say his piece then give him a slap over the head and tell him to go walk it off. Come back when he wants to talk like an adult. No need for things to get messy.

Viggo turns to his son, and Avi silently reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bar. The lighter. Then sets them back down again. They're not going to help.

“You stay right where you are,” Viggo says. “Don’t get up. You don’t have my permission.”

There are no words for how much he’d rather not be in the room right now.

“I’m sorry,” Iosef mutters. “Father, please. I didn’t mean it-”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I was just angry, just-”

“Were you?” Viggo stands over his son. There’s no expression on his face, and Avi’s gotten pretty good at reading him over the years. Expressionless is not a safe look on Viggo. It means he’s fucking done.

“I’m not actually mad about it,” he says to the room in general. “Viggo. It’s fine.”

“Do you hear that?” Viggo asks Iosef. “He is ‘not mad’. Unlike you, he understands that anger is a tool. He saves his anger for situations that warrant it; I have never known him to lash out without thought. And that, my son, is one of the reasons he has my respect. It is the reason why now _I_ am angry with _you_.”

He’s quick when he wants to be; unpredictable, even to Avi. He moves before Iosef can flinch, his fist seizing around the kid’s hair, shaking him like a dog.

“You want to disrespect your betters?” Viggo asks. He doesn’t give Iosef a chance to respond; shakes him again, hard enough that he yelps. “You want to talk about a man worth ten of you, to say …what was it? What did you say about him?”

There’s nothing Iosef can really do with that, short of whimpering that Viggo’s hurting him- no surprises there. And it’s clear nothing Avi says is going to matter here, but he can’t help but feel that it’s a little unfair. Not like the kid said anything untrue. Whether Viggo wants to admit it or not.

“Ah yes,” Viggo says quietly. “You believe he should not scold you. Because, as you say, he _sucks my cock_. This is what you said to him. To his face, and to mine.”

Iosef claws at his father’s hand, where it threatens to pull the hair from his scalp. “I didn’t mean it. And he doesn’t care, anyway-”

“I care,” Viggo tells him. “And that is what you need to concern yourself with.” He switches languages then, the Russian harsh on his tongue. Whatever it is he’s saying, it drains the remaining colour from Iosef’s face. He stops trying to wriggle free. When he responds, his tone makes it clear that he’s pleading for something.

Viggo is implacable. He releases his hold on Iosef’s hair, dropping him hard onto the floor and stepping back. “ _Now_ ,” he says. “I am waiting.”

“I’m just going to pretend I know what’s going on here,” Avi says dryly. “Whatever Viggo said, I probably agree. Not that I know for sure, since you’re not speaking English.”

Viggo gives him the ghost of a smile. “My son regrets his disrespect.”

“Okay. Good to know.”

“And he will apologise for his insult.” Viggo’s smile fades. He nudges Iosef with a toe of his boot, eyes sharp. “By sucking your cock.”

Iosef says something in Russian. Begs, from the sounds of it, for all the good it does him. Avi raises his eyebrows.

“Poetic justice, I’ll grant you,” he says. “But, no offense, that’s…Jesus, Viggo, seriously?”

Viggo shrugs. “It is a fair punishment for his mistake. He should be grateful you are not demanding that I spill his blood. Another man would.”

He’s right, unfortunately. And it’s clear that Viggo’s not budging on this; he shuts down Iosef’s arguments with a couple of sharp, indecipherable words, and that’s the end of it. Iosef bows his head, nodding. And this is, apparently, a thing they’re going to do.

 _What the fuck are you playing at?_ Avi wonders, but doesn’t ask. When Viggo makes a call, there’s no talking him out of it. Still, it would have been nice to be asked in advance.

“Uh,” Avi says. “Okay then. For the record, this seems kind of extreme, but…sure, I guess. Sorry, kid, your dad’s the boss around here.” Still, he throws Viggo a sceptical look, and catches cold amusement in return.

So. It’s a game of some kind; weird-ass poetic justice, symbolic restitution of the sort outsiders can’t hope to understand if they’re not born to it. Or maybe not. Maybe Viggo’s just fucking with them both. Wouldn’t be the first time. Avi’s learnt to roll with it.

Iosef as a person doesn’t interest him in the slightest. There’s nothing of the father in the young man who crawls across the floor to kneel between his thighs, avoiding eye contact. But Viggo himself is right on his heels, looming over Iosef’s pathetic twitching, one hand on the nape of his neck. There are still smears of blood on those powerful knuckles. The tension in his wrist suggests that he won’t hesitate to add more, if he needs to.

“Hurry up,” Viggo orders. “He has other work to do for me today. Do not waste his time, or mine.”

Avi spares the kid the embarrassment of having to unzip anything; as badly as he’s quivering, it might have taken him a week or two to make anything happen. He takes care of the hard part and then sits back, half-stunned as Iosef mouths at his flaccid cock.

Viggo stands at his side. He doesn’t say anything, but there is cold satisfaction in his expression as he watches Iosef choke himself, saliva smeared across his thin lips. _Look what I can do for you_ , his expression says. _Look what happens to anyone who insults you. See what you mean to me._

Avi shivers. And again as Viggo moves to stand behind Iosef, grabbing another handful of his hair. For a moment, Avi wonders if Viggo’s planning to force the kid’s head down onto his cock. To force his goddamn son to do something properly, for once in his life.

That’s what gets him fully hard. And what that says about him as a person, Avi doesn’t want to know.

Iosef is nothing. But Viggo meets his gaze, doesn’t look away, and there’s a playful question in the blue eyes-

_So, Avi, tell me. How do you like the son? Is he better than the father?_

_Not a chance in hell_ , Avi thinks. He shrugs, grins, and Viggo reaches over his son’s prone form to clap him on the shoulder. There’s no need for either of them to say anything more.

He doesn’t mean to make Iosef work for it, but the kid’s clearly never given head, and Avi’s gotten used to better; he’s spoiled, he’ll admit it. He watches Viggo cross to the other side of a bar, pour vodka into a couple of clean glasses and pass one over. It’s a good call; it makes poor Iosef’s best efforts a bit easier to ignore.

Viggo leans over the bar. He’s dangerously close, his beard scratching at the edge of Avi’s ear. For a moment Avi wonders if he’s going to bite. The suggestion alone is enough to make him tense up. Viggo knows exactly what gets him going.

“Forgive me for this, my friend,” he mutters, and doesn’t follow through on the teeth. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Yeah, you’d better,” Avi retorts, amused despite himself. It gives him something else to think about; it’s a rare occasion that Viggo lets him take the lead in bed, and there are things Avi likes that don’t happen often enough for his tastes. He’s going to push for compensation. He’s pretty sure Viggo will let him. And that thought alone is what tips him over the edge.

Iosef chokes, predictably enough. Poor guy; first time’s hard enough when you want it. Must be worse like this. Avi pushes him off, not ungently, and zips himself back up as Iosef retches over the floor. There’s come and saliva smeared across his chin, his flushed cheeks. He’s a mess to look at.

Viggo is impassive. “Clean yourself up,” he says, tossing the bar cloth in Iosef’s general direction. Whatever he says next comes in rapid Russian, sharp and unintelligible. Avi slides off the bar stool, rolling his eyes.

“Viggo,” he says. “How many times. English, please?”

Viggo nudges Iosef with a toe. “Perhaps my son would like to oblige. Iosef. Tell him what I told you. In English, _please_.”

Iosef fumbles with the cloth. “He says I need to apologise and…hope you forgive me for being an embarrassment to my family.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s a little harsh,” Avi says. “Chin up, kid, you’re forgiven. And, uh, if we’re finished here then I’m good with going to do literally anything else. And pretending this never happened. No hard feelings, don’t do it again.”

“Sorry,” Iosef mutters again. “I won’t say it again, I’m sorry.”

“Attaboy.”

“So he is capable of learning,” Viggo says. “Wonders never cease.” He leans on the bar; Avi digs in a pocket, retrieving Viggo’s brand of cigarettes. He hands them over in exchange for a snort of laughter, an amused look. They watch poor Iosef scurry out of the room, still scrubbing at his mouth with one hand. No doubt going to take his frustrations out on someone who can’t fight back. A person, an animal. He’s like that. There’s really no helping him.

“Can you not spring that shit on me again, please?” Avi says pleasantly. “I’m not saying don’t do it at all - he’s your kid. You handle the discipline, I get that. But I’d appreciate a little warning.”

Viggo extends a hand, palm up. Avi hands over his lighter. “You had _a little warning_. I told you what he would do.” 

“Yeah, that’s not…you know what, never mind.”

“As I said before.” Viggo hands back the lighter and packet of cigarettes. He exhales smoke; he’s careful not to do it in Avi’s face. Kind of him. “I will make it up to you. Later.”

“I’m counting on it,” Avi says, and starts making plans for the evening.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to the people who let me borrow their dialogue and setting ideas. Seriously, writing this was a blast. Hope it's something close to what you wanted.


End file.
